I’m not quite sure how to start this post. Because I don’t want to be writing it. Right now my heart is broken and I feel hollow. I wanted to be writing about happy Christmasy things. About how I refuse to buy any more wrapping paper. Like ever. Or about random acts of kindness.

But one of our dear friends is in the hospital fighting for her life. And she’s losing. Less than two weeks ago she went to the doctor because she was having digestion issues and her ankles and abdomen were swollen. Later that day she was admitted to the oncology unit, two huge masses on her liver, one in her liver and no diagnosis as to where the cancer originated, only that she had cancer and she was dying. The chemo was a hail mary pass that her liver didn’t catch. She won’t be with us much longer.

And my heart aches.

It aches for her. For her husband. For her children.

Her entire purpose in life was to be an amazing mom and wife. And she succeeded. She was both of those things and more. And I’m left wondering how such a bright light could grow so dim in such a short period of time.

I look at a book on my nightstand she loaned me just a few weeks ago. And it’s a reminder to me how life can turn upside down in an instant. One day it’s all normal and you’re doing your thing. And the next? You’re fighting against cancer for your life. And you’re making plans no 39 year old should be making a week before her 40th birthday. And you’re accelerating the celebration of Christmas with your kids because you don’t know if you’ll even be here 48 hours from now.

So when I sit down and think about writing about wrapping paper, I just can’t.

Instead, I’m going to wipe my tears and be unabashedly grateful. For her friendship. For my family. For life.